


Bloody Hell

by TheDistantDusk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Post-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: Ron knows Hermione better than Hermione knows Hermione: An every-girl's-worst-nightmare scenario.Originally submitted for Tumblr's 2017 Romione Fluff Fest.





	Bloody Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for the Romione Fluff Fest 2017. I'm posting it late (I know), but better late than never? Maybe? 
> 
> For anyone who had been following, I'm hoping to have the next (and final) chapter of Three Times up by Valentine's Day. 
> 
> Please read and review! Thanks!

She was humiliated.

Well, no…she wasn’t. Because _humiliated_ wasn’t strong enough a word.

 _Humiliated_ was a word reserved for everyday scenarios like a professor snapping at you in class or getting a question wrong on an exam. _Humiliation_ was something that happened in a moment, a fleeting event you’d agonize over before falling into a fitful sleep, something that would occasionally crop up in your thoughts just when you doubted yourself the most.

And her current predicament far exceeded that. She was _beyond_ humiliated. She was _mortified_. Because this was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her.

This was worse than the time she’d messed up a Polyjuice Potion and turned into a cat. Those whiskers? Utter child’s play. Forgotten in an instant.

This was also worse than those months she’d had to witness Ron— _her_ Ron—snogging that tart in the Common Room. Even if she didn’t bear much resentment toward Lavender anymore, it had still been a thoroughly awful experience.

But now—crouched on the floor, wrapped in Ron’s stained bedsheet, and frantically scrambling for her wand— she found herself letting out a half-hearted, wheezy little chuckle when she even considered _those_ moments. The time spent sulking over Lavender was so meaningless compared to her current predicament.

In fact, she found that her previous most-embarrassing moment, when Mr. Weasley had awkwardly stumbled upon a pair of her knickers in his tool shed, no longer mattered to her. That particular incident had happened about two weeks ago, but she still couldn’t look either of Ron’s parents in the eye. Which was unfortunate, really, since she was living with them until she had permission from the Ministry to collect her _own_ parents from Australia.

She thought she’d reached a new low when Molly had sternly sat her and Ron down at the kitchen table the next day for a lecture about _responsibility_ and _preparedness_. On top of the actual lecture (which was painful enough) they’d had to listen to Ginny and Harry sniggering from the other room the entire time. It had been a real lesson in self-control and loyalty as she’d fought the urge to announce that she and Ron weren’t the couple who _needed_ that particular lecture, _thankyouverymuch_. She didn’t think her face had stopped burning since.

But she’d been wrong (so very, _very_ wrong) about that whole incident being even vaguely embarrassing. Because, realistically? It was nothing. A mote of dust. A blip on the radar. Utterly insignificant. No…Hermione was thoroughly convinced that nothing in her life would ever, _ever_ be this humiliating again.

Because now—the level-headed, always-prepared Hermione Granger—had just gotten her period. But she hadn’t simply gotten it during the day in her trousers, because that wouldn’t have been embarrassing enough.

No.

Instead, she’d _bled_. _Copiously_. _Gushingly_. All over her boyfriend. And her boyfriend’s bed.

They’d both been dead asleep and she’d been completely naked, her bum tucked right up against Ron’s boxers, his arm flung protectively over her bare chest even as he snored. They’d consummated their relationship almost immediately after the battle, and hadn’t stopped… _consummating_ …since. Tonight had been no exception, and (as usual) Ron had worn her out so thoroughly that she’d simply passed out afterwards. Thankfully he seemed to have had the presence of mind to put his boxers on, because the only thing that could possibly have made this worse would be bleeding on _that_ part of him.

In retrospect, she supposed she really should have seen this coming. It had started with some light cramping after dinner, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. Between near-starvation in the tent and the whole experience at Malfoy Manor, it had been ages since she’d even _gotten_ her cycle. She must’ve been in a state of ignorant delirium to somehow forget that it always started just like this, with a few warning cramps and twinges before the main event.

Of course, she’d never complained about the lack of her monthly visitor during the Horcrux Hunt. The last one she’d gotten had been before Ron left, and despite the red flags this had signaled about her nutritional intake and emotional well-being, she had to admit that she hadn’t missed the bugger. Not having to deal with _that_ had been downright convenient while living in a tent with two boys, one with whom she was madly in love.

So, yes, she could now concede that she was _due_ for this to start again. She just honestly, 100% hadn’t considered the possibility.

She’d finally awoken at half past two to a trickle down her thigh and a sharp pain in her middle. The pain had jolted her from a delightfully sunlit dream about relaxing with Ron on a beach, his freckled hands massaging her shoulders as they basked in warmth.

Needless to say, she hadn’t appreciated the interruption. Half-asleep and confused, she’d blearily blinked once, twice in the quiet and darkness of Ron’s bedroom, almost managing to convince herself that she’d made the whole thing up.

But then another pain had hit her, and she’d curiously glanced down at the source, and… _no_.

No no no no _no_. **No**. This was absolutely not happening. _No. Way_.

She’d slammed her eyes shut and tried to control her breathing. Surely it was _possible_ this was just a nightmare, yeah? A vivid, _mortifying_ nightmare. But another sharp cramp and another little trickle had brought her back to reality, and she’d bitten her lip to stifle a groan, tears already springing to the corners of her eyes.

This was really happening. And if she didn’t want the situation to get _worse_ , she’d have to do something about it.

With aching slowness, she’d pried Ron’s arm from her chest, freezing in agonized horror as his breath momentarily hitched and his eyelids fluttered. But then he’d mumbled something in his sleep, burrowed into his pillow, and had promptly begun snoring once again.

Breathing an inaudible sigh of relief, she’d peeled herself off of his boxers and propped herself up on her elbow, squinting in the darkness as she tried to survey the damage. It was quite dark in the room, but still—

Oh bloody _fuck_ , was that all from her?!

Tears began flowing more freely down her face. _Merlin_ , it was worse than she’d thought. _So. Much. Worse._ She shuddered and covered her eyes with her hands, biting back a full-fledged sob. Frankly, she couldn’t remember the last time it had been this bad. It almost seemed like revenge for the time she’d spent without it.

Wiping her eyes, she glanced down at the large red _puddle_ —and there was no other way to describe it, she thought irascibly—that she was currently lying in. Every bed linen that had even vaguely touched her was soaked, from Ron’s Chudley Canons blanket to his top sheet to…she angled herself back and bit her lip as she glanced down at the crotch of the man in question, praying to every deity in the world that— _no_. It was too late. The crotch of his boxers was covered, too.

She whimpered very quietly in the back of her throat as the tears fell more freely, but she shook her head, clearing it. Now was not the time for self-pity. There was nothing to do but clean. And if there was one thing Hermione was good at, it was being tidy.

Yes. _Cleaning_! Heavens, why hadn’t she considered it until now? _This_ was an attainable task! After all, hadn’t she and Harry and Ron survived far worse over the years with far more terrible odds? In spite of herself, she smiled a bit in the darkness; _this_ was something she could manage. All she had to do was find her wand and take a quick trip to the loo, and Ron would be none the wiser.

Ron’s uninterrupted snores were music to her ears as she resolutely reached a shaky arm out for her wand on the bedside table. Even though tears blurred her vision, it was close, _so_ close, and she could almost grasp the wooden handle with her trembling outstretched fingers. She moaned quietly with exertion, still inching her arm forward ever-so painfully slowly so she didn’t wake Ron, who was still sleeping peacefully behind her. Her fingertips had just reached the handle— _yes!_ —and she knew in her heart that her victory was all but secured.

But then Ron—her darling, _beloved_ Ron, the man she’d loved since before she could remember, the man with whom she had every intention of spending the rest of her life— made a fatal error that spelled her doom: he let out a loud _hrumph_ in his sleep. And her entire body, which had been poised to listen to his every little utterance, jolted in shock.

Hermione’s face was a mask of horror as her fingers brushed the handle of her wand and just as quickly pushed it away as her body shook in surprise. Almost in slow-motion, her wand rolled away from her, off the wooden table, shattering the county quiet and stillness of his bedroom as it clattered noisily to the floor.

Of course, Ron’s snores stopped immediately. Their bodies were still so close that she _felt_ rather than _heard_ him sitting upright in bed. She knew that his beautiful blue eyes were groggily blinking in the darkness to find the source of the interruption, to make sure that she was safe. And it would only be a matter of time before those eyes found…exactly what she’d been trying to hide since she woke up.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck **fuckkkkkkk**. _

At that point, Hermione had whimpered loudly, abandoning all attempts at remaining quiet, and snatched the top sheet off of their bodies, wrapping it hastily around herself as she scurried to the floor. She’d find her traitorous wand, dammit, if it was the last thing bloody thing she did.

And that’s how Hermione Granger found herself naked (save for a blood-stained bedsheet), crouched on the floor, and contemplating every single life trauma that had led her to this moment.

“’Ermione?” Ron’s scratchy voice pierced through the darkness just as the tips of her fingers reached her wand. She ignored him, back still turned, and whispered a quick _scourgify_ on the sheet. She knew it wouldn’t be enough, not with the _staining_ , but it was a good start.

She tried her hardest to breathe deeply through her nose even as she heard Ron shuffling around behind her in obvious confusion. She hastily cast a few more charms on the sheet and on the lower half of her body, knowing she had only a few precious moments, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he found—

“Fucking _hell,_ Hermione, what happened to you?!” he bellowed loudly, the worry evident in his voice. She’d never been more thankful for the silencing charm they meticulously placed on the room every single night.

She bit her lip, tears bubbling to the surface again. But before she had the chance to argue, he was at her side, roughly grabbing her body and shoving it against his. He all but shook her shoulders as he pulled back slightly.

“Where are you hurt, love?” Ron demanded, peering into her eyes, arms still perched on her shoulders. He swallowed and glanced anxiously at the door, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Do—do I need to get mum?”

But at this, Hermione finally, _finally_ broke down completely. There was only so much a girl could take. Ron discovering… _this_ …was one thing. But Molly—who didn’t even know that she and Ron were sleeping in the same bedroom—would undoubtedly handle this very, very differently. Further, if Molly found them, she’d also discover that Harry and Ginny were holed up together. And then, as they say, the cat would really and truly be among the pixies.

The tears began to flow more quickly down her face, and soon uncontrollable sobs wracked her body as she shook her head frantically.

“No! No, p-please, Ron,” she whispered through her tears, “don’t get your mum! I’m- I’m fine, honestly!” She blearily peered up at him, clutching the sheet tighter still to her chest.

But she should’ve known Ron wouldn’t be so easily fooled. He continued to hold her firmly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion, his expression growing more and more perplexed with every passing second.

He cupped her chin and tilted it towards his face.

“But _Hermione_ ,” he began patiently, despite the flash of exasperation in his eyes, “I really do need to get someone if…”

But he was interrupted when another pain hit her, _hard_. She whimpered a little, doubling over and clutching her stomach. The tears began falling again and she slammed her eyes shut.

 _Fucking hell_. On top of everything else, it looked like she was going to have to spell this out for him. And why wouldn’t she? It wasn’t like _Ron_ had ever had to deal with this. Blasted boys.

Several pounding heartbeats later, she’d finally summoned the courage to peer back up at him. There simply wasn’t anything else to do—she owed it to him to explain this. She wasn’t sure how much Ron knew about this, exactly…he’d spent most of his life around other blokes, after all. The ins and outs of menstrual cycles certainly hadn’t come up during the course of their friendship.

But when her eyes met his, she was surprised to see that his expression had cleared completely. His mouth was open in a tiny little “o”. And if she was reading him right, he looked… _relieved_?

He sighed deeply, his whole body visibly relaxing. Almost as swiftly as his expression had changed, he let out a weary little laugh and pulled her into his lap.

“Christ, Hermione!” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her as he kissed her head in relief. “You had me bloody _terrified_.”

Wait, _what_?!

“What-what do you mean?” she squeaked, shifting slightly so she was more covered by the sheet, just in case. Whatever she had expected him to say, this certainly, _certainly_ wasn’t it.

He snorted softly against her hair, beginning to rock her gently. “If this ever happens again, love, please just _tell me_ you’ve got your period, yeah?”

Hermione moaned softly in his arms, mortification rising to the surface again.

“Don’t think I can handle waking up to loads of blood and seeing you sobbing on the floor.” He shuddered, grabbing her even tighter.

She bit her lip and looked away guiltily, pushing aside her embarrassment for a moment. She hadn’t even thought about it like that, hadn’t permitted herself to think of where Ron’s mind might go. They both had nightmares about Malfoy Manor, but she knew Ron’s were far, _far_ worse.

“S-sorry,” she muttered, nuzzling her face against his chest, “about all of this. Gods, I’m so, _so_ sorry, Ron.”

Tears began to flow down her face again, and she reached up to wipe them away. “Don’t need to be,” he responded simply, shifting her on his lap. “Wasn’t like you meant to. ‘Sides, I _knew_ this was about to come on. Figured you did, too.”

Hermione froze in dismay and confusion, peeling away to glance at his face, her embarrassment temporarily forgotten. _How could he possibly…?_ But she took one look at his lopsided grin and twinkling eyes. _Merlin_ , he wasn’t lying; he just knew her better than she knew herself.

“Ok,” she breathed, pushing her hair away from her face, “I need to go to the loo. But when I come back, you’re going to need to explain what you just said, Ron Weasley.”

He shrugged lazily again, smile still playing on his lips.

“Whatever you’d like, love,” he yawned.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Hermione padded down the hallway to Ron’s room, freshly showered, freshly clothed, and still thoroughly confused. She still had no bleeding— _pun intended_ —idea how he’d “known this was coming.”

And, dammit, she was bound to find out.

She cracked open the door to find him splayed out on his bed in fresh sheets and boxers, casually flipping through a quidditch magazine by the light of his wand. His old linens sat abandoned in the far corner of the room. As far as she could tell, they looked fairly clean. _Hmm. Molly must’ve taught him more domestic charms than I realized…_

“Hey,” he smiled, setting his magazine down on the side table. He budged over to make room for her, lifting up the sheet in an invitation for her to join him.

“Hey,” she replied, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over her even as she climbed in beside him. He nestled against her a bit more, clearly not the least bit flustered. Damn, why did that make this all the more difficult?

She cleared her throat, staring at the ceiling. “So…did you…um…with the sheets?” She was confident her heart was beating loudly enough for him to hear it.

Ron snorted. “ _Yes_ , Hermione. Without going into too much detail, you’ve been the cause of more than one middle-of-the-night sheet change in this bedroom. I’m quite good at this by now, actually.”

She blushed in spite of herself, shaking her head in the darkness. She knew he was trying to make her feel better. It was working.

“’Sides, I reckon Mum learned to turn a blind eye to that any sheet situations around the time we all started Hogwarts,” he yawned again, turning on his side to cradle her against his lean frame. “Trust me when is say she won’t notice _anything’s_ amiss. ‘Specially since she doesn’t know we’re sleeping in the same bed.”

She burrowed into his embrace and smiled against his chest. He was still the only person who knew how to calm her, who knew exactly what to say to pull her out of a cloud of anxiety and worry. But she couldn’t just forget about this, not _that_ easily…this had been truly ghastly. And definitely not for the eyes of one’s romantic partner.

“I’m still mortified,” she finally whispered, finding her throat dry. “…can’t _believe_ you of all people had to see that.” She shook her head a little as a few remaining tears squeezed out.

At this, she felt Ron prop himself up on his elbow, fully prepared for him to smooth her hair and murmur quiet reassurances. But of all the things she’d experienced tonight—from getting her period all over Ron, to Ron somehow predicting she’d get her period, to Ron handling this so brilliantly—his response was the thing she’d expected the least.

“Woman, are you _barking_?” he began, tone positively incredulous. “I mean, really and truly, Hermione. Have you gone ‘round the twist?”

She flipped over to stare back at him, brow furrowed. She was more confused than ever.

“How many times over the years have you had to deal with _my_ bodily fluids?” he demanded, raising his eyebrows.

 _Ah_. So that’s what he was getting at. She shook her head, sighing. It would only figure that Ron would somehow spin this into _himself_ being the burden, and not the other way around.

“But it’s not the _same_ , Ron—“

“Like hell it’s not!” he retorted indignantly, cutting her off. “Merlin, just _think_ about all of my shite you’ve had to deal with over the years! I’ve vomited slugs on you. Bled on you, multiple times. Cried on you. Probably gotten snot all over you too.”

She opened her mouth to disagree, but Ron raised his hand to forestall her interruptions. “And I like to _think_ I’m loads better at sex than I was at the beginning, but yeah, I’ve still gotten _that_ on you. More than once. Sometimes, you’ve even encouraged it.”

He finished with a grin that she could hear rather than see. For as long as they lived, she didn’t think he’d ever stop being proud that they were having sex. It was adorable, really. But she wasn’t going to let herself off the hook for this just because he was being adorable about it.

She sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “You’ve never done _this_ on me, have you?”

He laughed a bit beside her, relaxing as he rubbed his palm up and down her back. “Hermione, I think you’d know by now that I don’t exactly have the equipment to pull that off. Besides, this…event…just means that all of our precautions worked, yeah?” he added, raising his eyebrows significantly.

She moaned softly. He was right, of course; the very same thought had occurred to her as well. But it still didn’t answer the question of how he’d even known about this in the first place, known that she—

“What did you mean, about how you knew this was coming?” she blurted, cheeks burning.

His chuckle rumbled through her and he pulled her against his chest. “I may not have paid much attention in classes, Hermione. But if there’s one ruddy thing I’m good at, it’s you.”

She pulled back to stare at him again, the bewilderment still evident on her face. In response, he just wrapped his arm around her, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“It started around third year, yeah? That’s when I really noticed, it anyway. Or started paying attention,” he added thoughtfully, as if he weren’t describing her entire menstrual history. She nodded mutely against him, confirming his suspicions. She could tell by his tone that he was smirking. Cocky prat.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmured, beginning to play with her hair. “That’s the year you were always coming and going at these odd times. I knew you were hiding something, so I started keeping track. I may not’ve figured out the time turner, but I figured out that about once a month you were a bit…different.” He trailed off, continuing to run his fingers through her curls.

“How was I different?” she replied, face pressed firmly against the steady beating of his heart.

“Well, for starters, you’d go to bed earlier than normal—I can imagine why, the whole thing sounds damned awful—and for about five days in a row, you’d get really insistent on having pudding after dinner. And that’s exactly what Ginny did too when she…you know,” he gestured vaguely, wincing a little. “So I just made the connection.”

She groaned softly, pulling back a bit to cover her face with her hands. Per usual, he was right…but she really, _really_ thought she’d been more discreet. Going through puberty with two male best friends hadn’t exactly been easy, but she’d wanted to keep them out of it as much as she could.

“You’d also get these three spots on your jaw,” he said, tracing his fingers across the side of her face where she had, in fact, broken out. “Happens like clockwork, as they say.”

She sighed and nestled against him, her voice muffled. When he wanted to be, the man was too damned observant for his own good. “So you’re not totally disgusted by all this? Horrified? Going to chuck me?”

His laugh rumbled through her once again and he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Hermione,” he murmured into her ear, “I think we’ve already established that you’d have to pry my fingers off of you to get me to leave you again.”

She grinned a bit against his chest, finally allowing some of the embarrassment to ebb away. She’d misunderstood the situation, misjudged it from the very, very beginning. He hadn’t simply been trying to make her feel better, trying to convince her that everything was alright to prevent her from crying. No—he genuinely wasn’t that appalled.

She peered up at his blue eyes, so full of love and devotion, crinkled just at the corners as he fought sleep. The answer had been right in front of her all along: he cared far more about her than he cared about whatever she’d done to his bed.

“Is there anything you don’t know about me, Ron Weasley?”

He snorted, gently pressing the back of her head into his chest once again. “Hermione, I’ve known I was in love with you since I was 16 years old. If I had much more to find out, I think we’d have a problem by now.”

She grinned again and bit her lip, blushing for entirely different reasons.

“Also,” he yawned, shifting against her, “you’d better get used to me knowing things about you, since I plan on sticking around. Practically forever. Gonna be downright impossible to get rid of me, actually.”

She laughed and pulled him down for a soft kiss, allowing their noses to brush against each other. “That’s good, since I don’t plan on letting you go anywhere, either.”

“Brilliant,” he breathed back, resting his head on the pillow, still staring at her in adoration. He kissed her forehead softly, and she felt her eyelids flutter closed, utterly content for the first time since being so rudely awakened.

“’Sides,” he whispered, pulling her back from slumber just as the first few tendrils began to whisk her away. “Now ‘bloody hell’ had a whole new meaning, yeah?”

He flashed his lopsided grin in the darkness, and she couldn’t help but giggle a little and nestle even closer to him, her eyes slipping shut once again.

Her last thought as she drifted into a peaceful slumber was that she suddenly didn’t find that phrase so offensive. Not anymore.


End file.
